The History of Oven Mitts: A Field Trip Has Never Been So Fun!

 "I thought he did a good job," my friend Geri said. I stared at her. Did she attend the same historical tour that I did? "Ger...we stood outside the gates to the fort FOREVER talking about Fort George. Most of the students thought our guide's name was George. One kid was confused because he thought he was going get to to see Old Fort Niagara. You never mentioned that we were going to see Fort George, he said accusingly. We're not, Cherub, I answered with my usual brand of love and patience, Fort George is across the river on the Canadian side. Now...shut up and listen to George talk about recently fired eighteen pound cannon balls and oven mitts.


I had long since given up listening to George and was now playing a fun game with the adults at the back of the group. In between moving to the side to let other lucky groups actually ENTER the fort, we took pretend shots every time my friend Shanna yawned. We decided that if she made it past ten, we were going to hijack

the bus and head over to the nearest watering hole and forego living history altogether.

Our bus driver, Deb ditched me after the first time that I was reprimanded. Fingers to her lips, Geri shushed me as I learned how to craft my own barrel. My daughter, Sydney, a seasoned veteran of my getting yelled at, stuck staunchly by my side until she realized that we weren't going to see the turret tower and then went and embarked on her own personal tour.

George intervened some time later. "If I could get the attention of those in the back..." I nudged my friend Val who was clearly distracted ("Yeah...by you," she hissed.). In spite of Val's childish behavior, we made it in time for the cannon demonstration. "Am I wrong or does that guy have extraordinary calves," I whispered to Sydney as our speaker pranced about in period-appropriate pants. He also had extraordinary hearing because his glare suddenly zeroed in on me while Sydney ducked behind me. So much for standing staunchly by my side. "If YOU would listen..." he emphasized with a final withering glare in my direction before pivoting around and flexing his calf muscles at us, "We will now discharge the cannon." I glanced around. My chaperoning moms were holding cell phone cameras to the ready. But Calves still had a lot of explaining to do about how the vent holder touches the hole (not the one in the front of the cannon) so that no air escapes. The Vent Holder would also need an oven mitt because apparently a cannon can get quite hot. My heart went out to my poor moms...outstretched arms just a-quivering as they waited for the cannon to discharge so that they could watch it later...for hours and hours of fun-filled, educationally-rich viewing pleasure. I would occasionally photo-bomb their frames to lighten their tension and further annoy Calves. "We heart history! Cannons are da bomb!" I narrated helpfully.

It just occurred to me. I was helpful the ENTIRE trip. As we exited our ride on The Maid of the Mist that morning, I followed our group up towards the elevators. "Amy," my friend and responsible chaperone Sarah whispered, "Would you please let Jason know that I'm stopping to use the..." (She mouthed the word "restroom" to me.) "Of course," I replied discretely, scanning the line of a hundred people or so separating me from Jason. I cupped my hands to my mouth and bellowed, "Jason, Sarah is stopping to use the bathroom. I think she has to pee!" "Thank you, Amy," she said, "That was very helpful." SEE!?!?!? Helpful!

We learned a lot. It turns out that oven mitts were very useful during the 1700s. But...after an exhausting day, we finally returned to the bus. Room 24 boasts a bunch of champion sleepers. I am considering adding this valuable trait to the Comments section of their report cards. Suzy Q has shown a great deal of improvement in math and sleeps like a log. The ride home was blissfully quiet. As we pulled into the bus loop, I thanked our group for an outstanding day. Our students had acted as fine representatives of our school. "I know it's been a good day," I told them as they exited the bus to go home, "when I get yelled at more than you." "Bye Mrs. Mosiman!" cheerful little voices cried out as they left. "Bye Cherubs," I yelled back, "Be ready for tomorrow's history test on the importance of oven mitts and their application in battle-ready situations."